Cassie’s College Journey — Part 9
Art Supplies
Please note, this is Part 9 of a series. I hope you enjoyed reading Parts 1–8.
Harry pulled out of the garage of the townhouse and started driving to an art store. I was practically quivering with nervousness sitting on the passenger side. While I had been out and about today, that was wearing my drab boy clothes. My current outfit: dark pink mid-thigh girly autumn coat; fuzzy pink turtleneck sweater; girls’ skin-tight jeans that gently cupped, lifted and pulled my derriere cheeks slightly apart, the front and crotch girlishly flat thanks to my soft, limp and hairless member tucked against my perineum, held snugly in place by my delicate pink satin string bikini panties; pink and white sneakers and a pink scrunchy holding my dirty-blonde hair in a ponytail completed my outfit.
Oblivious to my nervousness, Harry drove and chatted away. Before I understood what was happening, Harry parked the car in front of the art supply store I had worked at all summer.
I physically shrank in the seat, terrified at what they would think. Everything I was wearing was pink except my jeans, and they were skin-tight, obviously feminine cut, and my privates were not visible.
Harry turned to me with a big friendly smile and asked if I knew this store. It was his favourite when he had to purchase art supplies for the class we took together. I anxiously responded yes, I worked there this past summer.
With instant concern on his face, Harry reached over and grabbed my small delicate soft hands, holding them firmly with his much larger masculine ones, looked at me with his dark-blue eyes and gently asked, in his warm and friendly voice, if I would like to go to a different store.
I froze, unable to move or look away, butterflies filled my tummy and dopamine crashed over the pleasure neurons skittering around my brain. I couldn’t breathe and my heart was racing.
I don’t know how long we sat there, Harry firmly holding my hands and me spellbound, gazing in his eyes, unable to look away. Finally, Harry gave my hands a squeeze, smiled and told me not to worry. I would be OK and he was there with me and he would protect me. The butterflies in my tummy swarmed around hearing Harry’s deep manly voice offering his protection.
Harry got out of the car, as did I. He met me on my side of the car, grabbed one of my small frail hands, holding in his unshakably manly one, started walking toward the art store, gently but decisively pulling me along. I submissively walked with him, grasping his hand, butterflies fluttering about, a tide of dopamine for the happy neurons to frolic in.
Entering the art store, Harry released my hand and grabbed a shopping cart. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out my list of art supplies and asked me where I wanted to start. I looked at the list and organized it in my head based on the layout of the materials in the art store, something that I was very familiar with. I guess instinct took over, and without thinking, I headed to the first item we could pick up, with Harry trailing behind pushing the shopping cart.
Stopping to look at the options, I felt Harry’s masculine presence. He stood so close to me that we were practically touching. I imagined I could feel heat radiating off of him. He leaned even closer to my hear, bending down to do so and I heard his husky strong voice ask what I thought was the best choice. Again, the pleasure neurons ricocheted around, and a tidal wave of dopamine crashed over my brain while the butterflies swarmed in my tummy.
I reached for the cheapest, and Harry firmly placed his hand on mine, stopping me. He looked me in the eyes and asked if that was the best, or the cheapest? I had to admit that was not the best, it was the cheapest. Harry released my hand and reached for the most expensive and asked if this was the best, to which I quickly told him that actually this one over here is the best, the one he was touching was expensive because of the brand name.
Harry expressed to me in his deep assertive voice: “Casey, I want you to choose the best products for you. I don’t care if they are the cheapest or the most expensive. What I do care, is that you choose the ones that work best for you.”
I blushed and nodded my head, then docilly picked up the one I liked the best, and handed it to Harry, who then placed it in the cart. I started towards the next item, again with Harry following with the shopping cart.
After about the fourth or fifth item, I started to relax and stop worrying, and started responding to Harry’s gently insistent conversation starters. I finally opened up and we started chatting and enjoying myself, the pleasure neurons dancing happily in a nice dopamine wave.
At one point, the manager of the store, Alex, my manager for this entire past summer, came up to me and asked: “Miss, do you need any assistance?”
I froze and Harry quickly and amusedly interjected: “Thank you, but I think we’re good. We will let you know if we need help.”
With that, Alex turned and walked away. I was stunned. I saw and talked to Alex practically every day over the entire summer. I was constantly begging him for more shifts and more hours. He appeared to not recognize me in these girly clothes.
Harry derailed these thoughts with a new conversation topic and we continued shopping, with the fragments of these thoughts still bouncing around parts of my brain.
Finishing the list, Harry steered the cart to the check-out, with me submissively trailing. Alex rang up our purchases, while I, was afraid to look his way, pretended to look at other items in the store. Harry paid, and I avoided looking at the amount, because I knew it would stress me. With that, Harry grabbed the bags and I docilly followed him to the car.
Harry carefully placed our purchases in the trunk, opened the car door for me, walked around to his side and got in. Once we buckled our seatbelts, he started the car, turned to me and suggested we celebrate with ice cream.
As Harry drove, he continued to pepper me with conversation starters, trying to tease me out of the thoughts swirling in my brain. We arrived at the ice cream parlour, which was quite deserted, it being mid-autumn, and ordered ice cream cones.
While ordering, the teen girl who scooped our ice cream kept stealing stealthy glances at me and my outfit and Harry, but showed no reaction. Blushing as she handled my ice cream cone to me, I smiled and thanked her in a soft voice.
Harry and I sat and ate our ice cream. He finally broke through and I engaged in our conversation and felt good, while the happy neurons danced in relief, and a sweet dopamine current engulfed me.
Finishing our ice cream, Harry opened the door for me and followed me out. Once outside, he grabbed my slight soft hand and engulfed it in his large masculine one. While butterflies fluttered in my tummy, I submissively held his hand as we walked to the car, Harry letting go to open the car door for me.
Once in the car, Harry resumed our conversation as if nothing had happened. He drove us home and followed me up the stairs, as he carried my new art supplies.
Harry dropped off my art supplies on the dining table and suggested we go to bed as it had been a long day. I docilely agreed and he gestured for me to proceed up the stairs and he closely followed.
I was very aware my derrière encased in my skin-tight jeans that somehow cupped, lifted and separated my derrière cheeks was at eye level for Harry and I wondered if he was looking and approved. The butterflies swarmed with these thoughts as the pleasure neurons skittered and dopamine rushed in.
My thoughts shifted to imagining I was not wearing the skin-tight jeans, and if Harry would like my pink frilly pink satin string bikini panties, and felt a sudden tingly feeling all over my body with these thoughts.
At the top of the stairs, Harry wished me a good night and proceeded to his room. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed that I went into my ultra-feminine bedroom alone.
My head a jumble, on auto-pilot, I moved to take a nice hot shower. I carefully peeled off my skin-tight jeans down my silky smooth legs, and pulled off the beautiful pink fluffy turtleneck. Standing in my comfy snug pink crop top tee with the cute cap sleeves and the wonderful silky string bikini pink panties, I thought that I should go ahead and choose something to sleep in.
As I looked through my lingerie drawers, I considered several options, but decided to save time tomorrow morning by sleeping in the silky pink thong that I would wear with my pink yoga outfit tomorrow morning. I carefully laid the pink yoga outfit for tomorrow and took the pink thong and a pink t-shirt for after my shower into the bathroom.
Turning on the shower, I reluctantly took off the cozy pink crop top tee and heavenly satin pink string bikini panties and stepped into the shower.
A wonderful dopamine wave crashed in, and the happy neurons danced about. My penis having been tucked all afternoon and evening in my silky satin pink panties swelled, then stiffened languidly, cautiously begging for attention. The hot water ran in sensual rivulets down my soft smooth silky legs as I utilised all the wonderfully smelly feminine products to clean my body and dirty-blonde hair.
Just prior to turning off the water, I took pity on my meekly begging phallus and slowly grasped it with my dainty hand and stroked slowly while my other hand fondled my hairless privates and discovered a new source of pleasure, the smooth and silky skin of my perineum. I whimpered and gasped with delight as my penis discharged.
Quickly cleaning up, I dried myself and applied various feminine lotions to the appropriate places. I pulled the silky pink thong up my smooth satiny legs and quickly trapped my now soft and limp penis inside.
The silky band of fabric running between the cheeks of my derrière and playfully caressing my soft and smooth perineum, causing a pleasurable warm wave of dopamine and the happy neurons swam joyfully.
Next, putting on the silky peach mid-thigh length robe, my brain and body relaxed completely. I then dried my dirty-blonde shoulder length hair and brushed it until it was sleek and glossy. I picked up the manicure set and proceeded to work on my hands and feet until I felt Harry would approve.
Thinking of Harry caused the butterflies in my tummy to flutter about briefly.
Next, I changed the silky peach robe for a soft and comfy pink tee. I looked in the mirror at my reflection, both front and back.
In the front, the pink tee thankfully covered fully, my tiny pink silky thong, unless I raised my arms, and it then teasingly revealed my small member trapped and compressed within, barely noticeable.
From the rear, the comfy pink tee did not quite cover my smooth and silky derrière cheeks. It was an extremely erotic view and one I was unprepared for. In a daze, I slowly bent over at the waist, mesmerized by the hem of my pink tee seductively creeping up and revealing more of my lush derriere. I then straightened, and spread my feet shoulder distance and repeated the movement, enchanted by the hem of my pink tee tantalizingly revealing my lush derriere and the silky pink strip of the thong wedged between, and once fully bent at the waist, covering and highlighting my perineum. I felt tingly all over.
Turning back to the front, it dawned on me that mirrors were never my friend. I had avoided them as much as possible throughout my life because I never like how I looked. In contrast, the girly clothes fit my body in such a way, that it made me not only like how I looked, I enjoyed looking in the mirror.
These thoughts swirled in my head as I grabbed my pink iPad and crawled under the smooth pink sheets, celebrating how they brushed against my silky legs and derrière. Exulting in the weight of the pink comforter bearing down on me.
I opened my pink iPad and resumed pursuing the girly magazines. After a while, I started searching for boys who like wearing girls’ clothing.
Diving down this rabbit hole of the internet was incredibly confusing. There were all these terms I had never heard of: Crossressers and Transvestites and Drag Queens and Sissies and FemBois and Transexual and TransFeminine and Non-Binary and Genderfluid and Genderqueer and BiGender and DemiGender and PanGender and Newhalf and Otokonoko and Shemales and Autogynephilia. It was overwhelming.
On top of that, just because someone dressed like a woman, that was not an indication they were attracted to men. Some were attracted to women, and other’s were attracted men, while other’s were attracted to fellow men dressed as women. Some were attracted to men only while they were dressed. And some had sexual reassignment surgery, but were only attracted to women. Some were gay men who dressed as a woman to attract men.
Confused and thoughts spinning in my head, I put the iPad on charge and tried to fall asleep.
